


They stood steadfast

by rayrayswimusic



Series: Event Fics [24]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hans Christen Andersen, M/M, The Steadfast Tin Soldier, Toy AU, Viktor-centric, fairy tale AU, yoi fairytale zine, yoi zine, yuri on ice zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:22:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25052368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayrayswimusic/pseuds/rayrayswimusic
Summary: There stood the tin soldier. Oh so brave and strong. There stood the ballerina. Oh so elegant and kind.One leg, a toy room, and the world stood between them.The world wept for their love.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Series: Event Fics [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/549691
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34
Collections: Once Upon A Time (The Yuri On Ice fairytale zine)





	They stood steadfast

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was written for the Yuri on Ice Fairytale Zine ( **[some merch](https://onceuponatimezine.bigcartel.com/)** is still available so get to it fast!)

Some part of him, when he was placed high atop the books to overlook the room, would wince internally. He would glance down at the men, carefully painted to look like the soldiers they imitated, with their warm red overcoats, and the gleam of their black boots. But what would attract his eyes were not the bayonets held in their hands, but rather the presence of two legs. It gave the men a functionality and presence that echoed their capabilities. The lack of a leg beyond the stump ending at his knee reminded him of his uselessness. He would not be able to participate in battle, could not join in with his brethren against whomever they were guided against. 

The other soldiers only looked upon him briefly, sighing to themselves, " _what a pity"_ was a common hushed whisper. They all knew the dedication and gumption he had shown from day one, defiant when his superiors had ordered him to give up and return to the box. He was not considered sufficient nor even needed for battle. Fellow soldiers would go out of their way to protect their one-legged comrade, but in the dangerous world of humans, this wasn't always an option. 

Their current owner, a small boy with a brilliant imagination and vicious demeanor, often ignored him and instead simply left the soldier atop a tower of books. _A sentry_. He couldn't say that he disliked the vantage point it gave him, overlooking the entire bedroom while allowing him to look out into the dreary streets of St. Petersburg. With the young child ignoring his presence, it allowed him to scan the skies and watch as birds flew close to the windows on their travels home. He could watch as people, looking as small as his own stature, went about their days. Sometimes on truly boring days he would attempt to create stories for them, about how the portly old man with the large smile was meeting with his sweetheart around the corner, or about the crone who would creep along the streets to the bank where she would make such a mess that some of the tellers would cry. When the days ended, and he found himself back in the box among his kin, he would tell these tall tales and entertain the exhausted soldiers until they chuckled and swatted at his silver head.

Other days, when he was laid amongst the other tin soldiers, he would say nothing. His eyes were clouded with frustration and self-hatred, and nothing they said was enough to make him snap out of his funk. After all, they couldn’t understand his feelings of inferiority when they would be pulled out to play and go off to _war_ while he was stuck on a pitiful sentry duty.. The soldiers would nod at him, giving him space that evening because they might not feel what he felt, they were his friends, comrades, _family_. 

Sometimes the boy would forget about him, the subconscious sympathy that would well up inside the human at the sight of a _useless_ toy not present. He would find himself discarded upon the table, facing the inside of the room rather than his familiar view out into the open world. From here he could see the entire toy room, albeit from a horizontal position and he found himself just as intrigued by the other toys as he was by the humans. He saw the toy chest propped open with some of the stuffed animals haphazardly thrown in, with the well-worn teddy bear slumped against a barely used jack-in-the-box. Blocks and marbles in equal proportions took up a corner of the room, creating a tripping hazard. Close to the hearth he could see a cardboard castle, silvery turrets framing an elegant archway. In front of the castle laid a small podium, with a figure standing atop it. In tights and a tight fitting shirt splayed across their chest.

His eyes widened, for from his position he could only see one leg, with the foot bound tightly in a cloth shoe with ribbons travelling up their tights. He watched them twirl around, eyes glued to the single foot of the dancer touching the ground. But he found himself enjoying the entire picture they made, graceful arms and an elegant tilt of their head. For a moment he met their gaze, gentle brown eyes locking onto his own blue ones. Coupled with the gracious smile on their lips, his heart melted. 

He spent the rest of the day in the same manner, watching the dancer's graceful moves and envisioning himself alongside them. He could almost see his own hands wrapped around their waist, a gentle step to the left, giving him the balance to lift the dancer into the air. Secretive smiles passed between them, a connection that blossomed from being alone and separate from all others, he alone on the table, and the dancer in the far end of the toy room, away from all other toys. As the day came to an end, the boy left for the day, ushered out of his toy room by his caretaker, with a hand grasping the teddy bear tightly. The soldiers were quickly packed up and placed back in their box, the lonely tin soldier accidentally left to the side being hidden away by the other objects on the table. Curtains were drawn and the fire smothered.

With the room plunged into darkness, he made his move. He ignored the call of his brethren, fighting the fear in his heart at disobeying his men, but the temptation of flashing brown eyes and beckoning hands was enough to draw him away from the comforts of home. He stood up unsteadily and moved towards the edge of the table and looked down. He racked his head, glancing around to find anything he could use as a makeshift ladder before seeing that the drawstring on the curtain had been left untied and loose. Rappelling down, he landed with a soft _thunk_ on the carpeted floor. 

It was a shaky start, the sound of his metal base clunking clumsily as he headed in the direction of the dancer. The lack of two legs hindered his ability to move smoothly unlike the other tin soldiers. Rather he hopped hesitantly, using what little light remained in the room to avoid catches in the carpet. Occasionally he fell over, an unsafe step or an unpredictable collision with another toy in the dark. He was so focused on his walk, so determined to get to his dancer, that he only just heard the whispered murmurs of the toys around him. 

_“Is that...a toy soldier? Where are the rest of them. Oh the poor dear, only one leg. What is he doing outside of his box? Isn't he trying too hard in his...condition? Where is he going?”_

He bit his tongue, fighting the urge to shout at the unsavoury audience he had gained. After one particularly ungraceful fall, he almost called it quits, unable to take the barrage of comments from around and within. With his face pressed into the carpet, he could feel the salty tears rolling down his face begin to soak the patch below him. He struggled to push himself up, base still caught on the carpet which made it much harder. But still he tried, using his considerable upper body strength to push up, which brought his eyes up to the dancer's platform again. 

He expected derision again, a final sign that his determination was for naught, but instead saw only a soft smile and the same gentle eyes. Their hand was beckoning, reaching out towards him, and unconsciously he found himself reaching back. With a grunt, he forced himself to a standing position. Brushing strands of his hair to the side, he took a moment to inhale deeply. With a new focus, he plodded towards the dancer, ignoring the jeers and catcalls of his fellow toys. His only focus was on the ballet slipper, the singular shoe that caught his attention. His eyes would flit upwards to the encouraging smile and graceful neck that tilted in his direction, but in the end his focus remained on the shoe. 

As he approached the podium, he could see that their outfit had been switched from the light blue and white to a darker one. A full body black piece, with a half-skirt and white gems. He was immediately enthralled, loving how the gems caught the minute hints of light remaining in the room, and how the outfit clung to their body to show off their stunning physique. A little tongue-tied, he hesitated in speaking but managed to gain enough courage to take another step forward. Bowing at the waist, he spoke as clearly as he could manage.

"Good evening. I realize the hour is late however, I could wait no longer to speak to you." He tilted his head up while continuing to bow, and was overjoyed at seeing the pleasant smile on the dancer's face, so he continued to speak. "My name is Viktor. Might I request your name, please?" He stood up straight, trying to keep the nerves from showing on his face as he waited patiently for a response.

The dancer's expressions seemed to rapidly change, from a serene gaze to a bright red blush that overtook much of their face. But then a brilliant beam grew on their lips before they began to reply. "Viktor, or seeing as you are a soldier, perhaps Sir Viktor might be more appropriate to your station?" It was a teasing remark, but rather than the slight that he would have felt from anyone else at his inability to contribute to his regiment's duties, he only felt a mutual amusement. 

"Simply Viktor will do for you, my lovely dancer."

The blush grew again, and this time the smile reached their eyes. "Then, my name is Yuuri. You may call me Yuuri." 

Viktor watched as they stood down from their stance, only noticing that they had another leg on a secondary glance. Rather, his eyes were drawn to the hesitant way they carried themselves now that they were no longer dancing. So he pushed down the shock and hurt of not finding someone like him, and instead raised his hand as a proffer of support to step down from the podium. Regardless, Yuuri seemed interesting, and Viktor was sure that, unlike the other pitying glances he'd received through his life, this time the friendliness was genuine.

The moment their hands touched was electrifying. So much so that his eyes narrowed slightly, trying to figure out the new sensation. It was a bubbly feeling that began in his chest, but the longer he held onto Yuuri’s hand, the further the warmth spread. His fingers tingled, and within his boot, he could feel his toes twitching. Neither an unpleasant feeling, nor a welcome one. Simply confusing. But as he looked at Yuuri he could see a similar thought process crossing the dancer’s face. A look of wonder masked by hesitance. Perhaps his own face showed the same. The soldier wasn’t sure. 

Yet he chose to ignore that concern, more interested in conversing with the object of his interest. And talking they did, spending much of the night simply sitting side by side near Yuuri’s castle. For Viktor, this was a new sensation, where even his own men would treat him like glass or a weakling simply because of his leg. Unintentionally it might have been, and with the best of feelings, but it still hurt him. And yet, Yuuri made him feel only acceptance and understanding. And he could tell that it wasn’t because Yuuri empathized, but that he was willing to accept Viktor in any form. It almost brought tears to his eyes.

And when he had to return to his box, his hands unconsciously tightened their grip on his pants. He had no interest in returning to the mediocrity of his life when he had seen beauty like Yuuri’s. Glaring down at his foot, Viktor stared at the carvings on his metal base indicating his rank and status in the battalion. 

_– General Commander of the Soviet ground troop ranks –_

He had never actually held this status amongst the men, and though they gave him the respect due, it was always an empty feeling. With the chime of the clock warning that the morning hours were incumbent, he forced himself into a standing position. As usual, there was a slight wobble with his stance but the presence of Yuuri’s hands on his shoulder and waist kept him upright with their even pressure. A beatific smile rested on his lips as he glanced towards Yuuri, before turning to wrap his own hands around Yuuri’s shoulders. The papery feeling of his clothing scratched against Viktor’s face, but he focused on the budding warmth in his chest, where if a heart had lain would have been pounding hard. Still, he pulled away from the embrace, eyes cast towards the desk as he began a farewell to the dancer who had overtaken his sensibilities. 

“I regret that the conclusion of our repartee must arrive so soon however, with the rapidly rising sun on the horizon, I must return to my battalion.” Viktor lifted one of Yuuri’s hands to his lips, still marvelling at the softness so far from his own as he pressed a kiss to the pale knuckles. “However, I bid you adieu with the gravest of hearts and most somber of moods.” He couldn’t help the chuckle that left his mouth as he watched a blaze of red streak its way across Yuuri’s cheeks at his brazen behaviour. 

“Goodbye my lovely dancer,” he pressed one last kiss to the hand in his hold before stepping back with as much grace as he could and turned towards his box. The title of _home_ no longer belonged now that he had seen what, _who_ , was out there in the world.

The charade of his return back to his box only to then redo the same trek the following night, and many nights after continued. Each night he felt his heart break piece by piece, more of it being incorporated into Yuuri’s than remaining in his own metal chest. The _goodbyes_ became perfunctory, both knowing that they would be together again the next night. And yet there was this pain and longing in both of them, as if the few hours they had together each night would never be enough. 

It _could_ never be enough. 

They began attempting to communicate during the day, a blasphemous decision for a toy to make. What would happen if the humans discovered them? Viktor’s men berated him strongly each time they caught the couple turning towards each other, or a smile unexpectedly blooming when no facial expressions should be present. But no sound logic, advice coming with the best of intentions, could deter them. They remained steadfast in their fervour, an ardent passion for the other filling every molecule of their body. 

It had long passed a simple bond of friendship though neither had verbally declared their intentions. The gentle smile, a soft look in their eyes, the brush of a hand across the other’s hip. It was apparent.

And then one day, things changed. It began normally, the boy charging into the room with purpose. He set up his toys gleefully, arranging the tin soldiers carefully into their lines of regiment, and of course the homely soldier was placed atop his familiar tower of books. A Commander he might have been called, but a sentry he was. Still, Viktor took to it like a fish in water, using the vantage point to look upon his beloved Yuuri. A brief moment of privacy as the boy turned around gave him the opportunity to salute to his dancer, and the answering curtsey pulled a red sheen to his pale cheeks. The chortles of his men accompanied by rapid berations became a familiar white noise as Viktor allowed his gaze to scan the room and then into the world outside. His familiar people, the portly old man, the old crone, they were both present and ready to fulfill his tall tales for that night. 

However, the difference today was the open window – the maid had come in early in the morning to air out the room with the approach of a new season. But what she could not have accounted for was the unexpected gust of wind that knocked Viktor to the side, his one leg catching on the tower of books. For any other tin soldier this would have not been worrisome – their legs together would support their body in limbo. But for him, it was a life-death situation, a precarious balance only possible with his sheer will. 

The wind returned. As he plummeted, for only a moment his eyes caught Yuuri’s gaze. The horror and fear remained etched behind Viktor’s eyelids for every moment afterwards.

He flew freely, the wind strong enough to carry his weight for some great distance. Unexpectedly Viktor felt a burst of joy in his chest, feeling free for the first time. But then he started to descend again, at a rapid pace as the wind failed. The free-feeling quickly transformed into fear and a longing for his old box, for the condescending but well-meaning comrades, for the boy who played with him so carelessly, and finally for his Yuuri. That desire to escape and experience the world swiftly disappeared as he plunged into the freezing waters of a river. He flailed his arms around desperate to stay above the water and escape the tantalizing pull of the current. However, the flow of the river was stronger than him, stronger than most, and down he went. His limbs became heavy as he succumbed to his fate, eyes already closing in acceptance of what was to come. 

He thought of the pretty little dancer whom he'd never see again, and in his ears rang an old, old song: 

_"Farewell, farewell, O warrior brave,_

_Nobody can from Death thee save."_

A surge of energy flooded through his body like a warm hug, filling him to the tips of his fingers with a desire to escape. If there was anything he could do to get back to Yuuri, he would do it. He thrashed around even harder, making quite a ruckus of himself but it was to no avail. He continued his struggle, unable to even see pinpricks of light from within the murky depths. And the suddenly what light remained was extinguished, the water rapidly rushing out as he continued to fall down a strange tunnel. The _thump_ he made was distinct as he stopped moving, and the placing was disorienting. But the smell was unmistakable – _fish_. He had been swallowed by a fish. Viktor’s heart plummeted further in his chest, as if reaching rock bottom had not been enough. Tears welled up as he struggled to control himself. He wanted to scream his plight, slumping down onto the base of the fish in defeat. 

It felt like years had passed in the time he spent in the dark, only knowing he was still in the fish from the jostling movements and dampness permeating his body. But then things changed rapidly, the movements increased in urgency and light suddenly filling his vision, forcing him to fight the urge to rapidly blink as his eyes adjusted. He found himself staring up at a familiar sight – the ceiling of the toy room. How had he managed to make it back to the house?

Unbeknownst to Viktor, the fish had gone on its own journey, eventually making one poor fisherman a very happy lad at the market, and one familiar maid checked a box on her grocery list. The maid had been surprised to find the tin soldier, and yet for some reason rather than throwing away the stinky toy, something in her felt that placing it in the boy’s room would be the best decision. When the maid finally left the room, it took all of Viktor’s self-control to not jump up and immediately start cheering. He had somehow made it back to his beloved toy room. And then he heard the familiar _tinkling_ of the music box chimes. _Yuuri!_

The boy then entered the room, and upon seeing the missing tin soldier lying on his desk he was overjoyed. But the smell of fish was all-pervading and repulsive. It wasn’t long before Viktor found himself being flung into the fire, anything to remove the stench. 

With tears rolling down his face, Viktor watched as the heat melted his boot, slowly crawling up his body. He almost couldn’t bear to look at Yuuri, but the gentle smile on his dancer’s face was enough of a balm on his aching heart. And then the wind that had tortured him so came back once more, lifting the paper dancer high into the air until he flew like a sylph. Viktor watched, breath stolen, as Yuuri’s lithe body came closer and closer, until it landed in the fireplace. For a moment, both were stunned. Neither having expected such luck to befall them. But then they smiled, Yuuri stepped closer, and they grasped hands, pressing their foreheads together.

And the next morning, when the maid came to clean the hearth? All that remained of the tin soldier was a little tin heart, but curiously a bit of blue sparkle was dusted atop it, the remnants of his beloved dancer.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed my dive back into the yoi fandom after quite a long break! This piece is based off one of my absolute favourite Hans Christian Andersen stories, _The Steadfast Tin Soldier_. 
> 
> Zine links: [tumblr](https://onceuponayoi.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/OnceZine)
> 
> My links: [tumblr](https://rayraywrites.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/rayray_swimusic)


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